


First Steps

by Mimsywerethe



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, God equals Group Of Drunks, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Johnny, Violence, attempts at parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29456016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimsywerethe/pseuds/Mimsywerethe
Summary: When Shannon disappears without warning, it’s up to Johnny to care for his 2 year old son. The only catch? Given Johnny’s history of Drunk And Disorderlies, the court won’t allow him custody of Robby unless he attends AA meetings.Featuring Johnny’s A++ parenting (“but I changed his diaper this morning, how many times a day do I gotta change these things for Chrissake?”), a sanctimonious Daniel Larusso and his weirdly babe-like wife (“how the hell did he land HER??”), adventures in sobriety and bisexuality, early Aughts references galore, and the creeping horror of incipient middle age.
Relationships: Amanda LaRusso/Daniel LaRusso, Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence, Robby Keene & Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 109
Kudos: 121





	1. Hi, Johnny

**Author's Note:**

> This is written with nothing but love and respect for AA and those in it (I count myself among them.) Johnny’s perspective is not mine, and will shift.

The coffee tastes like absolute ass, not that he knows what ass tastes like. 

Ok, there’d been this one time, when he was dating this freaky babe from North Hills, but he was so drunk he couldn’t remember what anything tasted like that night, her ass, the Captain Morgan’s they’d been swilling (fucking why?), the pack of cigarettes they shared (again, why??) 

He woke up with a cough and a headache like someone shoved a piece of rebar through the back of his skull, no memory of ass-eating though she swore he’d gone to town on her... what was her name? Mel-something, Melanie, Melody — Melody, right. A good time. A good time a couple of times, with eyes blue as Freshen-up gum and sharp teeth slightly yellow from her pack-a-day habit, how long since he’d seen her, anyway? God, not since Bush was President, daddy, not the current one. He said something to piss her off, or did something, he couldn’t remember but she’d stopped returning his calls. Whatever. Her loss.

Also, the cups are too small, little styrofoam kiddie things. And they only have powdered creamer.

He’d thought they would sit in a circle like you saw on tv, but instead the church hall place has these rows of chairs, and a podium onstage. It’s set up like a fucking high school assembly. Not full though. Plenty of empty seats.

Johnny slings himself into a chair at the back of the hall, darts a quick glance around the room, careful not to meet anyone’s eye. Bunch of losers. Mostly old guys but also a punk teenage chick, plus a couple uptight yuppies in suits. 

Then one of the old guys gets onstage and addresses the meeting and hey — turns out that is an old lady, whoops, sorry ma’am, interesting choice of flannel there.

“Hi, I’m Jan, and I’m an alcoholic.”

A mumbled chorus of “Hi Jan”, guess tv got that part right. God this is lame.

She keeps croaking on in her flat voice.

“I’m gonna read The Preamble. ‘Alcoholics Anonymous is a fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength and hope with each other that they may solve their common problem and help others to recover from alcoholism.’”

Boring. So boring. Johnny’s leg is juddering forcefully enough to earn him a glare from one of the suits. Chill, dude.

Seriously, why is he putting himself through this? 

Oh right. For Robby.

He looks at the clock. 8:04 pm. 56 minutes to go.

“Awesome,” he mutters, and drinks his ass coffee like a man.


	2. The Things We Cannot Change

The meeting ends promptly, that’s one mercy. Johnny peels himself out of the molded plastic chair the second the prayer (so much God talk, Jesus!) is over, goes looking for someone in charge. You’d think the suits would be a safe bet, but one is still kind of crying (get a grip man) and the other has skedaddled even faster than Johnny aims to, so that was nope and nope.  
  
Well, old ladies usually run church stuff, and this seems a lot like church, so he sidles over to where Jan is cleaning up the coffee station, such as it is. He clears his throat, weirdly nervous, and her light brown eyes snap to his face. Who has eyes that color? Lions, he thinks.  
  
“Hey, welcome, haven’t seen you before,” she says, extending a big hand with twisted fingers. Her hand is dry and really warm, hot even. “I’m Jan.” This close he can see that she’s probably in her fifties, but something has taken her body and pulled it out of whack, adding hunches and knobs.  
  
“Hey, Johnny, how you doing. Listen uh, I need to get a form or something —“  
  
“Proof of attendance.”  
  
“Yeah, that, exactly, so do I —“  
  
“Here,” she hands him a lightly creased paper from the binder she’s carrying.  
  
“Great, thanks, I —“  
  
“Let me give you my number,” she says, and some of Johnny’s sudden icy panic must show on his face, because she breaks into laughter. “Hah, no, not like that! We don’t date here and you’re not exactly my type, anyway. It’s just good to have a number you can call, that’s all. If you need anyone to talk to.”  
  
“Ok, thanks.” Johnny takes the scrap of paper she gives him, shoves it in his back pocket. Yep, I’ll be sure to call the next time I need to talk to a homeless lady with lion eyes he thinks, although he can’t tell if she’s actually homeless or just dresses like someone used to sleeping rough. She’s wearing at least 3 shirts. What homeless person has a phone though.  
  
Jan grabs his crumpled styrofoam cup out of his hand, chucks it in the trash and taps a coffee can with “Seventh Tradition” scrawled on it, and Johnny should have known the shakedown was coming sometime. He fishes for some change, comes up with an embarrassing amount of pennies and dimes, and drops them clanging into the can. Jan beams at him like he just bought her a new Ferrari.  
  
“Thanks,” she says. “We’re entirely self-supported. Keep coming back, ok? It works if you work it.”  
  
What the fuck. “I kinda have to keep coming back,” he says, waving the proof of attendance. He’ll drink the coffee but not the Kool Aid, and she might as well know it now so she can stop wasting her motivational bs on him.  
  
“Ahh, with an attitude like that you’ll go far indeed.” She gives him a really shitty grin, challenge creeping in there, and winks. “Be seeing you Johnny. You can call if you need to. Anytime.”

Other alkies mill about, stacking chairs and exchanging phone numbers (what is WITH these people) so Johnny hightails it out of there before anyone else can accost him with fellowship. 

In the shadowy church parking lot she awaits, his beautiful electric blue 1992 Ford Probe, looking awesome in the dim light that hides the rust eating through her undercarriage. He jams _Slippery When Wet_ in the tape deck and tears out of the lot to Ritchie Sambora just shredding it. He looks at the clock, which he never reset from last Daylight Savings — shit, 8:15 which means 9:19 (it’s also 4 minutes slow, don’t ask him why).

He told Tasha he’d be home by 9:30 — he is going to have to hustle, and he still may not make it. 

“Take a chance and we’ll make it I swear, WHOA —“ he yells out the window as the streetlights zebra stripe on his speeding car. For just a few minutes, he’s free.

“You’re late,” Tasha complains, jerking the door open as he’s still fumbling with his key. Robby is screaming “Mamamama!” in the background, why the hell is he still up?

“He cried so hard he threw up. Twice,” she informs him. He’s scrabbling in his pocket to get the money he owes her, $8 times 11 hours, Jesus. Why does he even bother to work if it’s all going to childcare.

“And $6 for diapers, I had to go buy them at Sevvie’s.”

“We have diapers, I checked.”

“You had. Two diapers. Which is not enough for a whole day.” He hates it when she talks to him like he’s an idiot. He’s a grown man and she’s a skinny thirteen year old. How many diapers could the kid possibly go through in a day anyways? Another shakedown. He dredges up an additional 10 bucks from his pocket. Tasha takes it gingerly, perhaps because it is just _slightly_ damp. 

“Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Lawrence. Don’t forget, I can’t sit for you after the 24th, ‘cept on the weekends, ‘cause I got school, ok? So you’ll have to find someone else, or daycare...”

“Gotcha,” says Johnny, and stuffs that thought down into a pit of other things he’s not dealing with right now. “School’s good,” he adds, going for responsible adult. “You should stay in school, don’t get distracted by boys.”

“I don’t need boys and I don’t get distracted,” she rolls her eyes at him. “I’m going to Howard.”

She declines his offer to walk her home. He wonders who Howard is, hopefully not a pimp or anything.

Robby’s still screaming. Fuck. Johnny grabs a beer from the fridge, drinks it down quickly. See? He didn’t have a drink all day, could he have done that if he was an alcoholic? Totally not powerless. He chugs a second beer and then grabs a third and steels himself to go into the bedroom.

Kid is standing up in his crib, sobbing as if his world is ending. Johnny knows the feeling.

“Hey, don’t cry,” he says. The screams change pitch, get higher and sadder somehow. Johnny cracks open the beer, takes a long drink and plunks it down on the cluttered bedside table. Then he goes over to the crib and picks Robby up. 

The kid hangs limp and heavy in his arms. His pjs are soaked with tears. Johnny tries rocking him a bit, but he must’ve outgrown that sometime in the past year because it doesn’t soothe him at all.

“Mamamamama...”

“Ok, how ‘bout this: ‘Here I go again on my own, duh-nuh-nuh-nuh, Going down the only road I’ve ever known, duh-nuh-nuh-nuh, Like a drifter I was born to walk alone, duh-nuh-nuh-nuh, and I made up my mind, I ain’t wasting no more ti-ime, So here I go again...’”

Robby stops sobbing, alternating between whimpering a little and hiccuping, watching Johnny’s face warily.

“How ‘bout this, how ‘bout this. What if —“ Johnny sweeps a pile of dirty laundry off the bed with one hand, fluffs up the two flat pillows into a nest as best he can. “What if I let you bunk in with me tonight?”

Robby quietens further. This is apparently an acceptable concession. Johnny kicks off his shoes and clambers into bed still holding Robby. He curves his arm around the kid so hopefully he won’t fall out of bed. Robby closes his eyes, makes some little snuffles. It’s actually pretty relaxing. Johnny drifts off before he can even finish his third beer. Would an alcoholic do that? No they fucking wouldn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and THAT is how Johnny ended up co-sleeping for the next two years.
> 
> The responsible parent in me needs to tell you that you should never go to sleep with a toddler in your bed if you have been drinking or using drugs. It’s dangerous.
> 
> Btw my headcanon for Tasha is that she did eventually go to Howard, then UC Berkeley for law, successfully primaried Dianne Feinstein, and is now the 5th member of the Squad.


	3. Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired

A man thinks dark thoughts when he is awakened by his toddler’s rock-hard head bashing him right in the kisser. Johnny yells “Ow! Fuck!” before he wakes up enough to realize his surroundings. Robby sleeps right through it, luckily, though he doesn’t stop thrashing.

Johnny touches his lip — great, it’s bleeding, and not even from a fight or a babe (hey sometimes babes get wild, although... less often lately? the last really wild one was Shannon, nope, not going there, nuh-uh.)

But now he’s thought of her, he can’t stop, can’t calm down. It’s 3:37 a.m. according to the angry red light of his clock radio, the hour of the wolf. He lies perfectly still, doesn’t want to wake Robby, God, he can’t cope with him crying now. His shoulder blade is itching like crazy but he doesn’t dare scratch it.

Why did he have to start sleeping with Shan in the first place, anyways? They were never serious, and look where he is now. Stuck. Totally trapped. Trapped with this sad kid he can’t even take care of and less money in his wallet each time he opens it.

He never wanted this kid to begin with. Told Shan that, would have given her money to take care of things, would have gone with her too, he’s not a total jerk. But she just kept crying and saying it was a baby, his baby, _their baby,_ and he hated it when she cried, hated it when anyone cried really.

So he moved in, tried to do the right thing, played house for a few months... it was horrible. They fought all the time, she would just scream at him, scream and scream until he went out into the courtyard and smashed bottles from the recycling bins just to keep from doing something bad. He has NEVER - he would NEVER -

But he couldn’t stand it for long and one day he just stormed out and didn’t go back, couldn’t. He kept meaning to call, or to visit, but then the child support notices started showing up and he thought, well, I’m giving this, giving half my paycheck, isn’t that enough? More than my dad ever did for us.

It was scary. To think about what he’d done to Shan, pretty Shan, could have been a model or an actress or somebody. To think about what he’d done to this kid. So he didn’t think about it, and that was working out pretty well for him. You can make yourself forget about stuff, even really big stuff, if you just never, ever think about it at all.

Until the police called a month ago and told him she was gone.

Johnny watches the numbers on the clock crawl from 3-something to 4-something to 5-something, and then he finally drifts off to sleep. Robby wakes up at 6:01.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to point out that the actress who plays Shannon is 37 in the Year of Our Lord 2021, which gives you an idea of just how freaking young she was when she had Robby, even if we’re aging her up a few years to make Johnny’s relationship with her less predatory and gross.


	4. Your Parents Did The Best They Could

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: insensitive language around disability because Johnny.
> 
> In which our hero gets a job.

The problem with toddlers is, once you take them out of the crib, there’s nowhere to stash them.

Also, when have you fed them enough? Do they stop eating when they’re full, like cats? Or do they keep chowing down until they overeat and die, like goldfish?

He gives Robby another handful of Cheerios, narrating what he’s doing because this kid never talks and that can’t be right, not at two. What is Shan teaching him? Clearly he needs help. 

”Those are Cheerios. Ch-ch-cheerios. You eat them. Can you say ‘Cheerios?’”

Robby gazes at him thoughtfully, chewing a big mouthful.

”Ch-ch- watch what I’m doing with my mouth, Cheeeer- oh fuck,” his beeper is going off.

He’s already starting to dial the number when he remembers the phone got cut off on Wednesday. He forgot, ok? It’s been a really bad month or two and he forgot to mail the check. 

He’s almost out the door when the number one problem with toddlers rears its ugly head again: nowhere to stash them.

“I gotta make a call, you want to come with, or like, hang out here? Can you be cool?”

Rpbby just looks at him with enormous blue eyes. He really hopes there isn’t something up with this kid. Special, or whatever. Johnny isn’t even sure he can handle a normal kid, he sure as shit isn’t cut out to look after a special one.

“Ok, I guess just come with me. C’mon, let’s hustle.”

Hand in hand they walk across the courtyard to the 7-Eleven next door. Outside the store, the world’s crustiest pay phone bakes under LA’s hazy sun. Johnny ends up reluctantly cradling the greasy receiver under his chin because if he lets go of Robby’s hand for even a second, the kid will wander off. Robby is not pleased by his captivity and is already whimpering audibly when Johnny’s boss picks up.

“Ah-hah, mamamamama...”

“Lawrence that you? What the fuck is that noise?”

“Hey Eddie, sorry, I —“

“Whatever, listen, I got a job for you, North Hollywood, can you get there in half an hour?”

Johnny winces. “Eddie, how come you never give me any notice man, I told you —“

“Oh he wants notice now, that’s cute. You know why I call you? You never got anything else going on Lawrence, no offense. Now you want it or not?”

“I want it, I want it. What’s the address?”

“2315 South La Brea, you got it? You writing this down?”

Robby’s whining is increasing in volume, and he’s using one hand to try to pry open Johnny’s grip on his little wrist. He’s surprisingly strong.

“2135 South —“

“2315 asshole, 2315, you always do this, write it down, I’m not your freakin’ DayTimer, do NOT call me back in half an hour asking for it, 2315 South La Brea, Max Griffiths Oldsmobile dealership. We cool?”

“Ok, got it, tell them I’ll be there.”

He hangs up. Looks down at Robby.

Shit. Shit.

Not enough time to call Tasha and wait for her to show up. Ok, don’t panic. Kid can come along, right? Hang out with him at work? Kids love going to work with their parents, they even have a whole day about it. 

Hell, he used to love it.  
  


_He is four. He’s sitting in the tiny storeroom, amusing himself by stacking cans of tomato paste as tall as they can go before they tumble down. The door cracks open, his mom beams in at him, her hair a golden cloud in the bright light. She’s so beautiful. Her uniform is a soft pink and he loves it best of all her dresses._

_“Hey my handsome guy. How are you holding up, you good? I’m almost done.”_

_He nods and smiles._

_“You’ve been so good Johnny, Donte saved something for you, last piece of cherry pie. You want it?”_

_She presses a ceramic plate into his hands. It’s still warm from the dishwasher. The pie tastes so sweet._

Yeah, Johnny can make this work. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to folks for reading. Appreciate you more than I can say.


	5. Your Parents Did The Best They Did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Johnny meets some LaRussos, finally.

So the job is a real layer cake of good news and bad news, all squished on top of one another.

Good news: Robby fell asleep in his carseat in the last 5 minutes of the drive over and he’s out cold even after Johnny parks the car.

Bad news: Johnny has NO IDEA what to do when Robby wakes up, since the job is uniquely unsuited to Bring Your Kid To Work Day. He was hoping it would be painting or something in a fairly contained area, figured he could give Robby something to amuse himself with, maybe his set of hexagonal wrenches.

But no, this job requires lots of heavy lifting, hauling furniture out of a dusty old car dealership, followed by tearing up the carpets and stripping the wallpaper. Where. Is. He. Going. To. Put. The. Kid.

Good news: Clive and Hector are also working this job. They are not assholes.

Bad news: Chris, a rat-faced little jerk, is running things. Eddie always puts him in charge despite the fact that he’s a petty tyrant, off-putting to clients (and humans in general), and really bad at repairs.

Good news: Johnny’s not paired off with Chris. He’s assigned with Hector to move broken furniture out to the dumpster.

Hector is 20, and only speaks a few words of English, being newly arrived from Mexico*. He and Johnny have worked together a few times. Hector thinks the sun shines out of Johnny’s ass because Johnny drives a Ford Probe. Hector is obsessed with this noble scion of the ill-fated marriage between Ford and Mazda. He curses the Mustang fans whose disdain for Japanese engineering doomed his beloved model to obscurity. He wishes more than anything to drive a 1993 Ford Probe GT, named Car of The Year by Motor Trend Magazine.

Johnny has no idea how he’s gleaned all this from their conversations. Hector just enthuses at him in Spanish, and Johnny only took French in high school. To impress babes. But somehow Hector’s passion has made itself known to Johnny, because language barriers cannot withstand the force of one man’s longing for a discontinued moderately-priced sport compact coupe.

So Hector doesn’t give Johnny any grief for going over to check on Robby once every few trips out to the dumpster, since this gives him a chance to examine the object of his desire at close proximity. Johnny can feel Hector quietly judging him for the rust on the undercarriage. Robby slumbers on, thank God. Johnny’s rolled down the windows to keep it from getting too hot inside, he’s not an idiot.

Bad news: after about an hour of hauling sticky, filthy furniture outside, he and Hector are reassigned to carpet removal. His mind races — the car is parked out of the sun, it’ll be ok for a bit, right? And if Robby can sleep at least to noon then Johnny can ask for a quick break and run him over to Tasha’s. Hopefully she’ll be home and willing to take him for a few hours. But if Robby wakes up before then...

His anxiety gives him a jolt of fierce energy, and he’s got all the baseboards pried off one side of the cavernous showroom when he hears shouts from the parking lot. Oh. Shit.

”What the hell is going on?! Get this baby out of the car, oh my God!”

And then Robby’s high-pitched wail.

Johnny tears out of the dealership, closely followed by Hector, Clive, and Chris.

Johnny has to process a lot all at once.

  1. One of the hottest babes he has ever seen is trying to break into his car.
  2. Aforementioned babe is doing it one-handed because she’s carrying a toddler on her hip.
  3. Robby is definitely awake. And not happy.
  4. Whoops, ok, she’s gotten the door unlocked now.
  5. Johnny is so, so fucked.



He’s frozen in place, unable to move as she whips back around to the four men staring at her with their mouths agape in shock.

”You cannot leave a kid!! Asleep!! In a car!! Ever!! Which one of you fuckheads did this?!”

Clive and Chris just look confused but Hector, who should never take up poker, turns and stares at Johnny in horror.

Johnny shuffles forward, his face burning. Bad enough this is happening at all, but in front of Chris it’s particularly galling. He unbuckles Robby from his carseat and yeah, it was getting really hot in there. His little face is flushed. Johnny’s such a fuckup.

If he’s lucky, he’s getting fired. If he’s unlucky, she’s calling DSS, and then that’s it for him. They’ll take Robby for sure, and he won’t get him back.

Johnny hugs Robby to himself, and the toddler sobs loudly and clings to him. Everyone’s just staring at them. 

”I —“ he starts, but she cuts him off.

”Please get back to work,” she snaps at Chris, Clive, and Hector. It’s definitely not a request. She turns to Johnny. 

“I’ve got some cold water in the office. Come with me,” and she marches off, still clasping her kid on her hip. Johnny follows her back inside.

She grabs a bottle of water out of the mini fridge in the dark office and pours some into a sippy cup she manifests from her tote bag. She hands it to Johnny and points to a chair in front of the desk.

”Please have a seat.” Again, not a request. She stalks behind the desk and plops her toddler in her lap, grabbing a Go-Gurt from her tote bag and ripping it open with immaculately manicured nails.

Robby gulps his water, stopping between sips to take deep shuddering breaths.

“I’m sorry for yelling out there. But that was so dangerous, do you know that?”

“I — I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I figured the windows were open —“

”Doesn’t matter. He could have died.”

Johnny drops his cheek onto Robby’s hot little head. He can’t breathe for a second, thinking of it.

The words just bubble out of him. “I really needed this job, and I. It’s just me. I didn’t have time to get anyone to look after him. I thought, I thought it would be ok for a little while. I’m sorry. It was really stupid. I didn’t know what else to do.”

His eyes are stinging. God, this is so embarrassing. 

She’s silent for a long moment. He sneaks a look up at her face and is struck once again by how beautiful she is. Now she _should_ play poker; it’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking behind those fierce blue eyes.

“You won’t do it again?”

”God no! No ma’am.” Johnny’s never been more sure of anything in his life. “No, I’ll never —“

”Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to stay here with - what’s his name?”

”Robby.”

”— with Robby until he quiets down a little and then you can leave him in here with me and Sam. It’s cool in here and I’ve got some toys for them to play with. Then you can go back to work so you’ll still get paid for the day. Does that work for you?”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. She’d do that? That’s crazy. She looks at him inquisitively and for the first time she smiles, and her whole face lights up like a Ferris wheel at dusk.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, that — would be great. Thank you, um—“

”Amanda.”

”I’m Johnny. Thank you Amanda. Seriously.”

”Eh, it’s no big deal, one kid is pretty much the same as two. It’s tough, being on your own. My mother-in-law was a single mom, I don’t know how she did it.”

Of course she’s married. He hopes her husband is really rad, to deserve such a lady.

”My mom was too, and I guess I never gave her enough credit.”

He looks down at Robby.

”What do you say, kid, you ok to hang out with these nice ladies?”

Amanda puts Sam down and she toddles over to Johnny. She has her mother’s big blue eyes. Robby looks entranced — Johnny’s betting he hasn’t been around other kids much. He feels his forehead, which has cooled down from the AC. He slides Robby off his lap and gets up.

”Ok, I guess I best get back to work.”

”I guess you had.”

“I’m in the showroom if you need me. And thank you. Again.”

He can feel her watching him as he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hector is absolutely not from Mexico.
> 
> Dear God, please don’t leave a kid alone in a car for even a few minutes. 
> 
> I should add slow burn to the tags and with how things are going I should probably add OT3 to the tags too, because I am a sucker for Amanda LaRusso and so is Johnny.


	6. A River In Egypt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A detour into a less-renowned work in the oeuvre of Ridley Scott.
> 
> CW: “gay” used as a slur.

_It’s the dog days of 1986, and Johnny’s just forked over a whole $10 for him and his date to see a movie about fairies.  
_

_He’s complaining to the point where Bobby, who’s along for the ride with girlfriend in tow, smacks him upside the head and tells him to quit whining or he’ll kick his ass. Minor violence ensues and popcorn is spilt before the babe contingent weighs in and civility is restored.  
_

_Johnny won’t admit it under pain of torture but this is actually his third time seeing “Legend”. The first viewing was on another date but the second time he went all by himself. Look, the fairy and unicorn stuff is totally gay, quelle surprise (see Sid? High school French was NOT a waste of time, still using it!)_ _But the demon Darkness is pretty rad, and the chick who plays the princess, Lily or whatever, he can’t take his eyes off her. She’s thin and brunette, not his usual type, but she has these dark, liquid eyes like from the Italian paintings in that book back in art class. He just... likes looking at her. She reminds him of someone._

_Johnny’s date (who is named either Sam or Pam, and he better figure this shit out PRONTO since he’s reaching the upper limit on times he can cover his mouth and slur a bit and hope to get away with it) scooches apologetically past him to go to the bathroom, nailing his ankle with her spike heel on the way. The movie’s only been playing for five minutes, does she have a problem or something? Ok, there were a lot of previews but still._

_“Who does she remind you of?” he asks Bobby, who turns to him with the pained expression of a man who has been interrupted by someone incredibly tactless at the precise moment when he has discovered that his girlfriend isn’t wearing a bra._

_”Who?”_

_”The Princess, Lily or whatever.”_

_”Aw dude, I don’t know, maybe Princess Leia or something?”_

_Bobby is clearly not taking this seriously._

_”No, like a real person, not like an actress.”_

_Bobby’s girlfriend, not the most patient type, manually turns Bobby’s face back towards her and sticks her tongue in his mouth._

_Fine, he’ll figure it out himself then. Definitely not a chick he dated, he’d remember that._ _Speaking of which..._

_”Ow, careful.”_

_”Oops, sorry, what did I miss?”_

_”Just, they went to see the unicorns but she got too close and so the goblin shot it.”_

_“Shot what?”_

_”The unicorn, shh, I’ll explain later.”_

_”Fine,” huffs Pam (Sam?)_

_Johnny loves this part. Lily teases Jack with the ring, her mouth open a little bit in delight._

_”Hey, uh, does she remind you of anybody?”_

_”I thought you wanted me to be quiet.”_

_Johnny is beginning to think this evening isn’t going to pan out for him even if he does crack the Pam/Sam mystery. Whatever. He turns his attention back to the screen._

_Anyway, it’s not really what Lily looks like, it’s *how* she looks that’s driving him crazy._

_He knows that look. Like, a colt or a little deer or something. Terrified and mischievous at the same time, defiant and brave and — Oh. Shit. Shit._

You can make yourself forget about stuff, even really big stuff, if you just never, ever think about it at all.

Which is why Daniel LaRusso has not crossed Johnny Lawrence’s mind since 1986 until the moment he bursts into the car dealership office, singing “My Way” and carrying a tray of lasagna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnny’s date’s name is Heidi, and she’s really better off without him.
> 
> Bobby on the other hand married his girlfriend and they still fuck like minks.


	7. Wish To Shut The Door On It

Ok, that’s a lie. He’s thought about LaRusso, sure, you can’t get kicked in the face by someone in front of a few hundred spectators and not remember them, just...

It’s a lot easier to forget how he used to feel when LaRusso walked into a room, that bright flash, that fizz. Like shit was about to get _interesting_ , for a change. Johnny was bored so much of the time.

The only thing Johnny lets himself remember is the injustice of it all. He was gonna do everything right his senior year, stop drinking so much, really buckle down in classes, get back with Ali, win the All Valley again, finally show Sid he wasn’t a fuckup, make Kreese proud. And then — he didn’t. Do any of that. 

It’s hard to look back at your life and pick out one moment and say, yes, that’s it, if I’d just turned right there instead of left, everything would be different. I’d still be untarnished. I’d still be someone who mattered.

Unless of course that moment was easily identifiable, like say when someone _kicked you in the face._

He used to rail against it to the guys until they got bored of listening (except Dutch, but Dutch was kind of psychotic so Johnny knew not to get him too riled up). Confused the hell out of Bobby, though.   
  
“Hey man, but you told us he was alright. Like after.”

”Shut up Bobby, what did any of us even know back then?”


	8. If God Brings You To It

“...I plannnnned... each charted course,  
Each careful step along the byway, (ow, hot),  
And more, much more than this,  
I brought you diiiiiinner!”

Wait, hold up. Rewind. Can Johnny just have one nice day, just a few hours, before it all falls apart?

Alright. Yes he can. Here’s how it goes down:

Johnny and Hector finish tearing out the baseboard in the showroom and then they start stripping the ancient carpet, releasing clouds of choking dust. Of course Chris, being as useless as tits on a fish, didn’t think to bring any dust masks or goggles, so it’s miserable work. But they keep the doors open and the air flowing, and the sun is shining in, and what’s a little silicosis between friends?

The best thing though is that Robby is right there, just down the hall in the office. Johnny takes a break and checks on him after a few hours, and he seems fine, as happy as Robby gets, which is to say he isn’t sobbing. He sits on the floor and solemnly flips through a brightly colored board book. Sam perches on Amanda’s lap behind the big desk and scribbles violently with crayons. She’s babbling away, and she doesn’t make a lot of sense to Johnny but Amanda seems to understand or at least is good at faking it. She nods over at Robby.

“He’s fine, I just changed him. He seems to prefer playing by himself so I’m just letting him have some space.”

Johnny crouches down by Robby and gives him a little pat and sniff — his diaper is flat and dry and he smells like fancy baby stuff, powdery and clean.

”Aw, damn, you didn’t have to —“

”Please, it’s not a big deal. I have some extra snacks I was going to give him, is there anything he shouldn’t eat?”

What does she mean shouldn’t eat. Like, is he on a diet or something? He’s a baby. “Uh, no?”

”Great.” She beams at him like he’s the one doing her a favor, and it’s the first time since he brought Robby home a week ago that things feel ok. Just, under control. Safe. Goddamnit, he’s tearing up again, what the hell is wrong with him? Johnny beats a hasty retreat before she notices him crying like a total pussy. 

They get most of the carpet done by 5 pm, which is when Chris stops even pretending to work. Johnny goes back to collect Robby, who’s got ANOTHER clean diaper for Chrissake.

Johnny knows it’s weird to hang around but he doesn’t want to leave. Like when he was a kid and he was over at a friend’s house, he’d always linger until the last possible second. Kind of trying to soak up the warmth for a few more minutes. He searches for something to say.

”You should get someone in to check for asbestos. Chris and us, we’re not really certified. But like, I know a guy who could take a look for you.”

”Oh, do you think we need it?”

He snorts. “Old place like this? Built in the 50s, right? For sure.”

And then a pleasant tenor voice floats into the office, and in struts...

So it’s him alright. He looks almost exactly the same, maybe not quite as pretty and wearing a stupid suit instead of the insane things he used to wear in high school. But his eyes are bright and his mouth is quirked up in a little smile that Johnny realizes he forgot to forget.

”Lasagna alla Bolognese,” announces Daniel LaRusso. “Just stopped off at Vitorio’s, I don’t feel like cooking tonight, do you?”

He stops short when he sees Johnny, and about a million expressions flit across his face. Mostly complete bewilderment to start, followed by a sharp instant of recognition and then... fear? It’s brief, and followed by delight.

“Johnny? Johnny Lawrence?”

LaRusso close the space between them in quick strides and... throws his arms around Johnny, lasagna and all. He’s laughing.   
  
“I knew it was you, holy... How the hell are you?”


	9. Like Drinking Poison

“I can’t believe it, man, I can’t freaking believe it! This is so wild!”

The aluminum pan is burning his back, even through the plastic bag. Johnny winces away.

“Oh sorry Johnny, not trying to attack you with lasagna,” LaRusso laughs, letting go. He turns to Amanda. 

”Honey, do you know who this guy is? This is Johnny, Johnny Lawrence, from the All Valley Tournament in ‘84! He’s the one whose —“

This little motherfucker.

“Oh yes, I vaguely remember the story,” Amanda cuts in, smiling.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well actually, Johnny’s been working here today. He was just about to give me a contact for asbestos removal.”

”Asbestos?” LaRusso goes comically round-eyed. Jesus, how is this guy still like this? So over the top, like everything’s a show, like Late Night, the host and the comic and the tap dancer all rolled into one.

“You really think we need to worry about that? I dunno Johnny, we had the building inspected before we signed, this isn’t exactly our first rodeo. But if you think we need it... Who’d you have in mind?”

”Tommy,” says Johnny, narrowing his eyes. “You remember him?”

Sid installed this state-of-the-art home security system back in the 90s — you’d press a button and these metal shutters would slam down over all the windows and doors, clack clack clack. Locking everything down.

“Tommy,” LaRusso repeats flatly, suddenly very still. “Well that’s great. It’s great that you’ve kept up with old friends.”

Silence. They stare at each other. Johnny’s heart is fucking pounding.

”Dadadadadada!” Sam launches herself at LaRusso, mashes the piece of paper she’s carrying against his kneecaps. “D’awing dada. D’awing.”

He shifts focus immediately, crouches down smoothly, bringing his dark head level with her curly blond one. “Whattaya got Sam-o? Did you make a drawing?”

”Ess.”

”Can I see it?”

She shoves the crumpled piece of paper at him. He takes it and examines it carefully.

”Well this is just gorgeous, great job sweetheart. Can I have a kiss?”

”Ess.”

He kisses her right on the mouth. Are fathers, like, supposed to kiss their kids? Johnny thought that was more of a mom thing. LaRusso smiles up at him, all friendliness once again.

”I’m such a pushover for her, oh my God, it’s ridiculous. How ‘bout you Johnny, got any kids?”

Robby is still sitting quietly in the corner, looking at the same board book from earlier. 

”I have to go.”

Johnny grabs his tool bag, swings it over his shoulder. He hoists Robby up in the crook of his other arm, but Robby loses his grip on the book and starts protesting loudly.

”Thanks for everything,” Johnny says to Amanda. 

Robby’s whining escalates to screaming, right in his ear. Amanda grabs the book off the floor, offers it to him. “It’s fine, he can keep it.”

”No thanks,” he replies, shouldering open the office door. “He needs to learn not everything is for him to keep. Thanks though. ‘Night LaRusso, cool seeing you.”

”Johnny wait.” LaRusso follows him into the showroom. He spreads his arms wide. “Why you gotta run off?”

”We should get home.”

“The kid’s probably just hungry. Jeez, I didn’t even see him there. You guys should stay for a bit. Have some dinner with us. I’m starving, I can’t wait until we get home. We’ll have, like, a picnic here, catch up. C’mon, man.”

”Can’t, man. Have a good night.”

Out, out through the glass doors, out into the evening air, free. LaRusso takes a hint for once in his fucking life and stays inside.

Robby cries all the way home. And the whole time Johnny’s making dinner. He hardly touches his Chef Boyardee meal, and it’s the ravioli kind. He likes that one normally. 

Johnny takes Robby into the bathroom afterwards, washes tomato sauce off his little face and hands. Robby’s still doing that hiccuping thing that he does after he’s had a big cry. Johnny gazes at him in the sallow bathroom light. 

He leans down tentatively and kisses Robby for the first time, lips barely brushing his soft cheek. The kid doesn’t react. Just looks at him. Johnny doesn’t know what he was expecting.

“Ok dude. Bedtime.”

Getting pjs on is a whole production. Robby threatens another meltdown when Johnny tries to put him in his crib, so into Johnny’s bed they go. They’re both asleep almost immediately.

Johnny wakes with a start about twenty minutes later. It’s still light out. He successfully ninjas himself out of the bedroom without waking the kid.

He’s earned a night out. He’s earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to picture Daniel LaRusso at this age, you need to watch Ralph Macchio in “Can’t Be Heaven”. It’s on YouTube. He plays a ghost from the 1930s who shows up to give a little boy romantic advice, and then makes out with his grandmother or something. The script is SO BAD that I could only watch it in 10 second increments out of sheer cringing embarrassment. But our boy looks very cute.


	10. You’ll Know It When You Hit It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: drunkenness, mentions of vomit

“Johnny... Johnny... Listen guy, can I call you a cab?”

Johnny is very comfortable.

“JOHNNY!” Or at least he would be if Darlene would quit squawking in his ear.

“Darlene, shh, I’m fine. I’m fine. Just —“

“You can’t sleep here dude, this is not a Comfort Inn.”

“I’m not sleeping.” He’ll open his eyes and set her straight in a moment. She’s singing a real different song now — when he came in tonight it was all “hi sweetheart” and “this one’s on me, gorgeous”. Why are chicks so fickle?

Rustling sound and someone tucks in close next to him — he’d lash out, but from the overwhelming scent of Body by Victoria, he’s pretty sure they’re not a threat.

“Johnny.”

He pries one eyelid open. Darlene’s beaky face swims into view as she leans in close as if she’s going to tell him a secret.

“Look Johnny, it’s time to go home.”

“Don’t be mean, Darlene. Heh...”

“Johnny,” real quiet. “I like you, you know I like you. I think you peed your pants, dude. You been sitting here with your head down on the bar for the past 45 minutes, and I’m pretty sure you peed your pants.”

“Didn’t.” What the hell is she talking about?

“You did Johnny, and that means I’m supposed to throw you out. I don’t want to do it, but I’ll get in trouble if I don’t. So this is me asking you nicely. I’ll get you a cab —“

“I don’t... need a cab... I just —“

“You do, you can’t drive like this —“

”Quit BITCHING at me, DarLENE —“

”We got a problem Johnny?” Soft deep voice. Johnny raises his head off the bar, looks up and up.

”No, Clintoine, we do not, uh, have a problem. I’m just —“

He legs tangle in the legs of the stool, he’s on the ground somehow.

”C’mon man, time to go.” Strong hands under his arms, hauling him up. He lashes out with a kick, trying to break out of the hold. 

“Ok Johnny, if it’s gonna be like that...”

Hoisted, lifted, up over a broad shoulder in a fireman hold, gaping faces as he’s carried past, the ground is moving too fast beneath him to put his foot down, gotta put his foot down, he won’t be treated this — OW! — flailing elbow caught the door, out the door, into the yellow streetlight and the warm air, lowering down, more gently than he deserves, thunk on the pavement, a big hand catches his head before it can hit the ground.

He might as well rest here. Here’s as good a place to rest as any. 

Some time passes, maybe.

”Johnny.”

What.

”Johnny the cab is here. C’mon —“

Standing over him, blocking the light. Offering him a hand up. 

“Clintoine, I’m sorry man.”

“Whatever, man. Whatever.”

He’s in the cab, it smells like old smoke and garlicky food, please God don’t let him throw up. He grits out his address to the driver and clenches his teeth against the sour spit flooding his mouth.

Somehow he falls asleep, he must, because when he opens his eyes they’re pulling into the parking lot of his apartment complex. He throws some bills at the driver and fumbles for his keys.

There’s a teenager standing in his living room, a girl, why— oh. God.

”Tasha.”

She’s staring at him.

”Tasha I’m really sorry, I know I’m late...”

He looks at the clock on the VCR. 1:05 am.

”Shit, Tasha, I’m sorry, how much do I owe you, here...” Does he have his wallet, where... oh, there it is, how much... doesn’t matter. Some twenties fall on the floor, he picks them up, offers them to her. She...

She backs up.

”Mr. Lawrence, I’m not leaving.”

She takes a few more steps backwards, towards the hallway. She’s breathing hard, her face unreadable.

”Nah, it’s ok, you can go home —“ 

”You’re drunk.” 

Now it’s his turn to stare. “I’m fine, I’m not —“

”I’m not leaving Robby alone with you.”

Backing down the hallway, keeping her gaze fixed on him. He just stands there, frozen in place, still holding out a fistful of twenties.

”I’m going to go in the bedroom now Mr. Lawrence. I’ll be there if Robby needs me. I’ll stay all night.”

She’s not making sense, what is she talking about? He takes a step towards her.

”Don’t.” She stumbles backwards. Oh. She’s crying. 

“You don’t have to be scared, Tasha, I’m not — ok. Ok.”

Johnny slowly lowers himself to sit on the couch. Tasha’s eyes are glued to him. He spreads his hands out, see, not a threat.

”Goodnight Mr. Lawrence. I’ll see you in the morning.” Her voice is shaking. He hears the bedroom door quietly opening and closing, and then the click of the lock.

Johnny sits on the couch for a long time. Then he curls up and falls asleep without even taking off his shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like most recovering alcoholics have a story of a time they peed their pants. Moi aussi!


	11. Your Wildest Dreams

“ _Johnny.”_

_They’ve got him down on the ground, someone is stepping on his head. Terrible pressure._

_”Johnny, look at me.”  
_

_He can’t move, he can’t get free._ _“Mom?”_

_”It’s ok Johnny, just look at me.”_

_He strains every muscle to open his eyes, but he can’t, it feels like they’re glued shut._

_”I’m right here.”_

_”No you’re not.” He knows this, suddenly and with absolute certainty._

_Arms enfold him, cradle him. She whispers something in his ear, but he can’t make out the words, because someone is crying.  
_

_“Don’t forget, it’s important,” she tells him._

Someone is crying. “Mamamamamama...”

Robby.

Johnny opens his eyes. 


	12. Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: vomit

It would be so nice to have a moment of disorientation right about now.

Like, you know when you wake up and there’s this wonderful moment of not remembering where or even who you are? You just exist, out of context. It’s exhilarating and delightful and always too short-lived.

Wouldn’t that be great, thinks Johnny, not to remember for just a minute.

Instead he knows the following with crystal clarity:

  1. that it’s 5:57 a.m.
  2. that the smell of stale piss is indeed coming from his jeans, which means Darlene was spot-on in her assessment of the situation last night.
  3. that his headache has turned the corner on Excruciating and is picking up steam towards Unbearable.
  4. that Robby is shrieking at the top of his lungs in the bedroom.
  5. that the murmuring he hears is Tasha trying to calm Robby down, which means in turn:
  6. that she really was in his living room last night and he made her cry, that wasn’t just a drunken nightmare.
  7. that Johnny is going to have to apologize to his traumatized junior-high-attending babysitter.
  8. that Johnny is going to have to apologize to said babysitter while wearing jeans that smell like piss.
  9. that he’s going to need to throw up first.



He makes it to the bathroom and even manages to close the door before sinking down on the cracked tiles and retching uncontrollably for a solid 10 minutes. He splashes some cold water on his face and rinses out his mouth — he can’t bear to use toothpaste yet. Then he creeps out of the bathroom and almost bumps into Tasha in the hall.

”Hey.”

”Hey.”

She carries Robby into the living room, straps him into his high chair.

”Look, I’m sorry if I scared you last night.”

”Oh you didn’t scare me.”

Yeah, right. Some of his disbelief must show on his face because her eyes harden and she raises her chin defiantly.

”I wasn’t scared, Mr. Lawrence. I was embarrassed is all. A grown man like you.”

”Yeah... well... I’m sorry for coming back like that. It wasn’t fair to you —“

”Wasn’t fair to Robby neither.”

“To you or Robby, I guess.”

Bam! Bowl slammed down on high chair tray. Rattle! Cheerios poured into bowl from an unnecessary height. Thud! Refrigerator door shut with excessive force. Robby startles at each sound.

”Your, uhh, your parents know where you are? You need to make a call?”

”My mom’s on the night shift at Valley Pres, she’s not even home yet.”

Tasha pours milk into Robby’s sippy cup with fierce concentration. Robby is gazing warily at his cereal, not trusting it after its violent arrival.

”Tasha.”

”What.”

”We cool?”

She turns around and stares at him so hard that Johnny can feel his headache intensify.

”You don’t pay. Me enough. To deal with that.”

He can’t think of anything to say.

”I’m just a kid, Mr Lawrence. This is supposed to be a babysitting job. That was some Very Special Episode stuff last night.”

”I know.”

Robby decides to try his luck with nibbling some Cheerios. His crunching is very loud in the silence.

”Ok well, you owe me $80,” Tasha says at last. Johnny hands her the twenties he pulled out of his wallet the previous night.

”This is a hundred.”

”Combat pay,” he says. She sighs, turns to Robby.

”They all think they cute,” she tells him, and kisses the top of his head. Then she’s gone, the screen door banging behind her.

After breakfast (Robby’s breakfast, Johnny is never eating or drinking anything again) they head over to the laundromat, prompted by the fact that neither of them have any more clean pants. He has to get Robby some more clothes. Can he pick some up from Shan’s? Would the social worker be able to break him into her apartment or whatever? So many things to figure out.

Johnny goes through all his pockets carefully, because once you’ve tossed a Slim Jim in with your tshirts by mistake (his clothes had weird red stains and smelled like barbecue for weeks) you will be forever cautious. He pulls out a fair amount of loose change, a toothpick, a crumpled lottery ticket, and a piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. What...oh right. Huh. 

“C’mon,” he says to Robby, who is examining a strip of dryer lint with the intense expression of a gourmand who’s contemplating the chef’s tasting menu. “We’re gonna make a phone call.”


	13. How Much Time Do You Have?

Johnny knows he doesn’t have a lot of time before his resolve dissipates and despair sets in. That’s how hangovers work if you get drunk enough the night before. (Unless you need your stomach pumped, which, that was _one time,_ we don’t need to use it as a case study.) You need to get drunk enough that the following day dawns on a still-tipsy you. You may feel like ass, but all that alcohol has turned to sugar in your veins, and you’ve got some energy.

Better get things done, for you are a man on borrowed time. Do chores, try to make amends for anything you broke the night before, have some morning sex if there’s any tail on offer. You’ll be glad of your accomplishments when the afternoon rolls around and your sugar-high burns away like morning mist off the Palisades. The afternoon is time to revisit past humiliations and worry about future calamities, lying on the couch with a sock over your eyes to block out the sun.

So Johnny knows he’s only got three hours of utility left in him, max. He’s got to:

  1. get his car back.
  2. quit drinking forever.
  3. get his life together. For Robby.
  4. remember he’s got clothes in the washer and come back for them in a timely fashion, because people in this laundromat are animals. One time he left some stuff a few hours, three, maybe four, and when he came back some asshole had dumped all his wet clothes ON. THE. FLOOR. Who does that?



Johnny hands Robby a plastic bag of quarters to occupy himself with.

”Hi, is Jan there?”

”This is Jan, who’s this?”

”Hey, uh this is Johnny from the AA meeting.”

A chuckle. “You’re going to have to be more specific Johnny, I go to a lot of those.”

”Uh, the one on Thursday night? In the church? I was the guy who needed a form.”

”Oh yeah, hi Johnny. How you doing?”

This is so stupid. He has no idea what to say. What is he even doing?

”Uh...”

”That good, huh? Oh man, I’ve been there. I’m sorry.”

She sounds like she gets it, even through the crackle of the crappy pay phone. Not like she pities him or anything. She just sounds like someone who’s had some bad days herself, like she knows the shape of them. Johnny finds his voice.

”I uh, was thinking maybe I should check out another meeting. Like maybe not wait until Thursday. Is there anything today?”

“Oh ho ho, we have meetings all the time and everywhere my friend. Where do you live?”

”Reseda.”

”Ok, lemme look.” The sound of flipping pages. “Hmm, there’s one today at noon at St. Catherine of Siena, would that work? Over on Sherman Way?”

”Is that one any good? Like, not lame?”

Pause. “Well, I don’t know Johnny, let’s see what Zagat’s has to say.”

”No, I just mean... are you going to a meeting today?”

Another pause. “Yes. I am.”

”Well maybe, could I, like, go to that one? Oh, hang on, shit, Robby NO, do NOT eat that, shit...”

He drops the receiver and squats down to pry a quarter out of Robby’s mouth right before it disappears down his throat. Robby whines at him.

”Sorry dude. That was a bad toy for you. My fault. Just hang on, ok?”

Johnny straightens up and shoves the slimy quarter in the coin slot. He grabs the phone.

”You still there?”

”I’m still here. Johnny, look...”

”Nah, you know what? Forget it. Dumb idea. I’ll figure something else out.”

“Johnny,” she barks.

”Yeah?”

”I didn’t say no. To the meeting. You can come. Just... it’s gays and lesbians mostly. An AA meeting for gays. I wasn’t sure it would be... really your scene.”

Oh. _Oh_. “Well, do you do, like, gay stuff there?”

”Gay... stuff?”

”Like, sex stuff or whatever? ...hello?”

”Jesus, no, we don’t do ‘sex stuff or whatever’ it’s just a bunch of alcoholics who also happen to be gay. I just wasn’t sure you’d be comfortable there.”

”Oh, I’m cool. I’ll be fine, just as long as it’s not sex stuff. Hey, can I bring my kid? I don’t exactly have anyone to watch him today.”

”Sure.” Jan sounds a bit shell shocked. Johnny finds he has this effect on most people, not sure why. 

“Ok, well where should I go?”

She gives him the address and the time of the meeting. He thanks her quickly and hangs up, chanting the info over and over again so he’ll remember.

Ok Robby, hang on just a little longer. It’s time to phone a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarters are not a good toy for toddlers. Obviously. Basically reverse engineering a parenting manual here by giving examples of literally everything not to do.
> 
> Also Johnny can NOT get it out of his head that AA is like some kind of cruising spot. Relax, my dude.


	14. Defects of Character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: homophobic slurs including repeated use of the F word, mentions of bullying, AIDS. Also, Johnny is pretty ignorant in his thinking in general on LGBTQ+ issues, which, surprise!

“I’m just saying you’re going to have to watch your language,” says Bobby, deftly slicing a banana.

“Man, I thought you’d be supportive. You’ve been yapping at me for years to quit drinking so much, and now when I’m finally trying, you give me a lecture!” 

“Johnny, it’s just... listen, I don’t want you to run your mouth off and insult a bunch of people.”

”I know how to act around gays, what’d I ever do that made you think different?”

Bobby rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs, then plops banana slices on the tray of Robby’s high chair. Robby carefully selects one and chews thoughtfully. From the parking lot comes the forlorn honk of one of Veteran Cab Co’s finest.

”You should go, we can talk more when you get back with the car.”

”Whatever,” Johnny mutters, grabbing his wallet and keys. “Bye Robby.” He ruffles Robby’s fine, straight hair and the kid blinks at him — wait, did he smile? A bit? Holy shit!! Anyway, if he’s not fully smiling, his mouth is turning up a little at the corners and THAT is a victory, Johnny will TAKE it, good enough for government work.

“See that? That’s a smile right there!! You see?” Hangover or no, he feels like dancing, swear to God.

”I think so,” Bobby says doubtfully, peering at Robby’s face. “Yeah, hey, I guess it is.”

He pauses, looking constipated, which is a sure tell for when Bobby’s feeling bad about something.

“Look Johnny, I’m glad you called me, really I am. I know I haven’t been around much lately. When you have kids, time just flies by, you know? You lose track of people.”

”Yeah, sure,” Johnny tells him. What the hell is Bobby talking about, time flies? This last week with Robby has been the longest week of his entire fucking life.

Bobby chuckles “Yeah, now you can relate. Anyway, look... I’m not trying to bust your balls.”

“Might just bust yours,” Johnny suddenly throws a Kin-geri, but Bobby checks the kick swiftly. “Nice. Glad church didn’t turn you into a total pussy.”

Bobby grins. “Not yet.”

Another honk from the taxi. 

“Crap, ok. See you later. Thanks for watching him.”

The light outside is blinding. Johnny jams his sunglasses on and swings himself into the backseat of the cab. He gives the driver the address of the bar from the night before and closes his eyes against the relentless sun.

His mind drifts back to the conversation with Bobby. Why do people always assume he’s got a problem with the gays, anyway? He’s got no beef with them, leaves them alone. Gay dudes don’t usually pick a fight with you over the trivia machine at the bar — that’s straight dudes, and they fucking suck.

Ok, if we’re being scrupulously honest, in high school there might have been a couple guys... Maybe they looked a little different or acted like pussies, and he picked on them the way he picked on anyone who stuck out. It wasn’t personal. It sure wasn’t because he thought they were gay or anything, he didn’t know from that in high school.

Hell, Johnny didn’t even throw around “faggot” every other word, not like his friends did back then. Practically the last time Johnny called anyone a fag was way back in third grade. He didn’t even know what the word meant, just heard a couple boys hurling it at each other on the playground at recess. It sounded sharp and mean, kind of cool. When he tried it out at home (referring to that little prick from The Partridge Family), his normally gentle mom unleashed wrath like he’d never seen.

_”I don’t EVER want to hear that word from you again Johnny, do you understand? I mean it! That’s ugly, and I’m not raising you up to be ugly like that!”_

_”Sorry,” he mumbles, not even sure he knows what he is apologizing for._

_”What would Uncle Paco say if he heard you talk like that?” Johnny doesn’t get what Uncle Paco has to do with him calling Danny Bonaduce a fag. In general Uncle Paco thinks everything that Johnny does is awesome and hilarious. Not a real uncle, but he might as well be, drifting into their apartment unannounced at all hours of the day and night, bearing small bottles of Amaretto di Saronno for Laura and packs of candy cigarettes for Johnny._

_He does a perfect impression of Barbara Walters, and he and Johnny have a whole bit where Johnny pretends to be the president and Uncle Paco interviews him, batting his eyelashes and calling him “Pwesident Fowd” while Johnny acts stupider and stupider until Johnny, Paco, and Laura are all falling down on the floor and howling with laughter. “You are a CARD, Johnny Lawrence, you are a card-carrying card!”  
_

_So, ok, if it’s important to Paco that he not say fag or whatever, Johnny guesses he can forgo the pleasure. Pussy’s a better insult anyway._

Johnny was one of Paco’s pallbearers in 1986. The casket was ridiculously light because he’d lost so much weight by that time, light as a feather and stiff as a board indeed. Johnny and Laura went home afterwards and drank Bocce Balls in his honor and Laura cried a lot and Johnny certainly didn’t but he felt like he’d swallowed something sharp and it was cutting into the back of his throat. 

1986\. That was the year before he met Joshua, wasn’t it. Huh.

”Ok Mister, we’re here.”

Johnny thanks the driver and reaches into his emaciated wallet for some more singles.


	15. Let Go And Let God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violent assault, gay bashing, homophobic slurs including the F word numerous times. Johnny is... Johnny, somewhat well-intentioned, but also regressive in his thinking.
> 
> Sorry this took me so long to post. I’ve been having a tough time. But! I’ve not been drinking my way through it, grateful for that. Thanks so much for reading this. Having you with me for this story has been really great. I’m sorry for my late response to your comments — I have read and treasured them all, and will endeavor to respond soon.

_The gravel path lurches under his feet like the deck of a ship, like when he’d go out with Ali and her parents on their yacht, bobbing around on the bluegreen waves.  
_

_Oh wow stairs._ _Stairs feel like a Bad Idea. Let’s just... hang out here. For a minute._

_Sitting down, there’s a thought. He can just... whoops. Ow.  
_

_Ok, well, he’s down now, sort of sitting anyway, and he can lean his head against the crunchy concrete balustrade, nose kissing the smooth coolness of the pipe handrail. He can close his eyes for a bit._

_Just gonna take a little nap. Just a few minutes. Sober up a little. And then he’ll find his car, go home. But rest first..._

_”YOU LIKE THAT, YOU FUCKIN’ FAGGOT??”_

_Someone’s getting hit. Hard. Johnny’s known that sound forever, in his bones and in his fists._

_”Can’t get up, can you? C’mon, try! Try to get up! We won’t hurt you —“_

_”I’LL FUCKIN’ HURT THAT LITTLE FAG!!”_

_”My mistake, we WILL hurt you.”_

_Impact, the thwack of a fist hitting a face, a shout, someone stumbles, falls back._

_What. The fuck?_

_Johnny peels his eyelids open, squints in the dim orange light from the fading streetlights overhead and the... dawn? He must have slept for a while. Tries to force his eyes to focus. Two beefy guys loom over a slim figure crumpled on the grass beside the path._

_The dude on the ground groans, starts to pull himself up yet again. Stay down if you can’t fight, man. What the hell. Everyone figures that out in junior high.  
_

_A few savage kicks, a stifled high pitched whine of pain, the kind you make when you’re trying so hard to keep silent but it just hurts so bad. Johnny winces. This sucks. He’s not going to be able to ignore this for much longer. He lets his eyes sink closed again. Can’t these two assholes just move on? Gotten their kicks, haven’t they? Literally._

_The guy on the ground mutters something, Johnny can’t make it out. This guy does not learn, does he?_

_A roar of rage._

_”IS THAT TRUE?? IS IT??”_

_”Wait. Dude, no, Justin, no dude, stop it. Seriously, man, don’t.”_

_”YOU FUCKIN’ FAGGOT!!” Boy is this asshole one-note._

_”Dude, no, it’s enough, you’re gonna kill him!!”_

_Scuffling. Someone is gasping for breath._

_Johnny’s eyes fly open.  
_

_So, it’s weird to watch someone else get choked out. Burly arm around his neck in an anaconda hold, his fingers fluttering against the immovable triangle that’s cutting off his air, his legs twitching and then buckling as he starts to lose consciousness..._

_Johnny doesn’t even realize he’s moving until the ball of his foot crunches into a well-muscled shin, striking hard against the sturdy bone underneath. He slams the heel of his hand into the big guy’s nose, and when he reels back Johnny socks him in the stomach, sloppy, no technique. Does the trick though._

_”What the fuck man,” the guy wheezes at Johnny, sounding strangely betrayed, like aren’t we all nice heterosexual bullies together? His friend grabs him, trying to pull him away. Johnny raises his fists, bounds forward. He’s grinning savagely, can’t help it. This feels amazing, his heart is pounding, breath coming fast, finally, he feels useful, finally. C’mon c’mon let’s go let’s go!_

_They do not c’mon, they do not let’s go, they just... go, the two of them loping off down the path, the first asshole unsteady and still cursing. Cowards! Fucking pussies. Pansy-ass..._

_Speaking of, how’s that guy doing?_

_Wary, that guy looks wary as hell. He’s standing, looks ready to run, or to try anyway. Johnny drops out of his fighting stance, endeavors to lose the psychotic grin._

_”Hey, you ok?”_

_God, they really did a number on this dude, his own mom might have to squint to recognize him. Eye beginning to swell shut, bloody nose and split lip gushing blood down his chin. He’s shaking so much he can barely stand, but he IS standing. There’s something defiant in his stance, in his slight frame, that almost reminds Johnny of —  
_

_Nope._

_”You ok?” he asks again stupidly, the good feelings from the fight draining away, leaving him empty and headachy. Dammit, why couldn’t those guys have stayed? Been too long since he kicked some ass._

_”I’m ok,” the guy replies. He still looks like he’s trying to decide whether to bolt._

_”I’m not going to hurt you,” Johnny says.  
_

_The guy barks out a laugh. “That’s what they said too.”_

_”Well, I won’t. My uncle, he’s... like you.”_

_“Your uncle’s a fag too?” the guy spits out. Anger glitters in his one unswollen eye._

_What the hell is this dude’s problem? Johnny’s trying to do a good thing here, why so hostile?_

_“Yeah you know, he...” Is it still bad to say fag if someone who is one says it first? Johnny feels like his gay etiquette isn’t up to snuff. “He is. Or he was, he died last year. And he’s not really my uncle but, uh, yeah.”_

_”That’s confusing. You’re very confusing...”_

_He sways. Johnny grabs him, lowers him to the ground, sits down next to him. “Just sit here for a minute.”_

_”They might come back.”_

_“Hope they do, I’ll kick both their asses this time.”_

_The guy grins a bit at that. “Thanks, I guess. For that and for... not kicking mine.”_

_What’s Johnny supposed to say to that? He doesn’t know, so he looks down at his hands... which are covered. in. blood. Ohshitohshitohshit. Oh God._

_He jumps up, almost levitating with fear.  
_

_“What is it?”_

_”I’ve got your blood all over me man, holy shit! Fuck!”_

_He feels like he might actually pass out. The guy looks up at him with sudden comprehension._

_”Hey no —“_ _The guy scrambles to his feet._

 _”Don’t TOUCH me, man!”_ _Johnny’s fists are raised again, somehow. He lowers them but it’s hard. The guy is back to looking at him warily._

_”No, look, it’s ok,” his tone is gentle, like trying to convince a spooked horse not to trample you. “I- I don’t have it. I promise.”_

_”You don’t know that!”_

_”I’ve never, with anyone. So I do, I do know. I’ve never, not even once. I don’t have it.”_

_Oh._

_”I swear.”_

_”Ok.” Johnny believes him. Why would anyone admit to that unless it was true?  
_

_“Ok? You’re ok?”_

_”Yeah.”_

_”Not rethinking the whole beating me up thing?”_

_”Nah.”_

_”Ok. So now what?”_

_Now what indeed? Question of the century. “You live close?”_

_”Not far. Over on South Lake.”_

_”I’ll walk you.” No way is Johnny letting this dude anywhere near the Avanti, bloody and dirty as he is. Hell, Johnny might not even let HIMSELF near the Avanti ‘til he’s washed up a little._

_”Really?” The guy looks skeptical.  
_

_“In case they come back.”_

_”Oh. Well uh. Thanks again.”_

_Might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb thinks Johnny, and sticks out his hand.  
_

_“Johnny Lawrence.”_

_The guy takes Johnny’s bloody hand in his own bloody hand. It’s sticky, yuck. His grip is surprisingly strong for someone with such thin fingers._

_”Good to meet you Johnny. I’m Joshua.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if Johnny’s fear will make sense to people who weren’t alive during the 80’s but it was such a terrifying time. AIDS was a death sentence, a pretty quick one in some cases. By 1987, the year this chapter takes place, we had some idea of how it was transmitted but people were still amazingly scared to even shake hands with someone who was HIV positive lest they catch it. There was barely widespread testing even available for HIV. 
> 
> On a lighter note, boy is it hard to write people fighting! For me at least. Who hit who where?? Ugh. Why did I pick a karate fandom for my first fic? Because it’s the BEST fandom, that’s why.
> 
> That for hanging in there with me, I promise we’ll get back to Daniel soon. And Robby. And Amanda. In another few chapters! *runs away cackling maniacally*


End file.
